Senses
by Armitage374
Summary: Tom reflects on the first impressions he had of Sloan.Mushy...


Standard Disclaimer:  
Prey and any characters directly connected to the show, are the property of those nasty people at   
ABC Television.   
Original characters, as well as the story itself, belong to me though.  
  
Story stats:  
Series: Prey, late season.  
Autor: Katja Lind Boysen AKA Armitage 374  
Feedback Email to: katjaboysen@lycos.com  
Type of story: Stand alone one shot.  
Rating: PG  
Title: Senses  
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Senses  
A Prey story  
By   
Katja Lind Boysen  
Denmark  
  
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Silk.  
That was the feeling he received as his hands slowly filtered through Sloan's red hair.  
  
It had been close this time.  
  
Too close for his comfort, but that was the price of the choices he, and she, had made that fateful   
day when he had confronted her in her apartment.  
  
Tom figured, that if he wanted comfort, he could have stayed a Chameleon under Lewis' command,   
but something had made him jump out into the unknown instead of staying in the preordained role   
in which the Council had placed him.  
  
He opened his eyes, slowly acknowledging the approach of the remaining watchmen, the first thing   
in his field of vision being the dead body of the Lynch clone.  
  
He could have ended up like him.  
Crazy.  
  
Or worse.  
  
Slowly putting some space between his and Sloan's bodies, he found himself starting to ponder   
what the difference was between him and Lynch.  
  
Or just him and the brother he hadn't known about until his unfortunate twin had turned up at the   
morgue.  
  
He knew, that he had done horrible things in the past, even if he couldn't remember them all.  
He also knew, that his brother most like had as well, but unlike Tom, the twin had stayed with the   
Council.  
  
So what was the difference?  
  
What had happened, that made Tom so much different?  
  
It wasn't until much later, when the Police had been there and Atwood had relocated them to yet   
another safe house "just to be sure", this time at the seaside, that he realised it.  
  
It was Sloan.  
  
He had known she was different from other human females the second he had caught her scent at   
the laboratory.  
  
Back then it had been her friend, the scientist, who was his target.  
If Lynch hadn't beaten him to it, he would probably had killed her himself, but as it was, it was   
decided that he should concentrate on Sloan, since she, with her for a human, higher than average   
intelligence, could easily be as dangerous as her now dead superior.  
  
But he had found that he enjoyed her company more and more even as he tried to pry her secrets   
from her.  
  
It wasn't just her intelligence, but as time went by, he found that she invaded his senses more and   
more.  
  
And it puzzled him greatly back then.  
  
He had found himself caught up in the enigma she represented as he found himself struggling to   
explain why her scent, which he compared to cinnamon and some unknown but very exotic spice,   
seemed to make any other smell fade into nothingness or why her voice, when pitched in laughter,   
made him almost forget his mission, wanting to hear it utter his name in a much more husky way.  
  
Or why her touch, even a casual one, made his thoughts spin out of control.  
  
He had hated it, when he had come to her apartment to kill her and he could feel her fear as clearly   
as she had screamed it out, but had also admired the way she refused to let that fear control her   
actions.  
  
Trying to justify his own actions, he had used the fact that she had informed the police as a shield   
against his own distaste of the task he had been given, but she had torn though that shield as easy as   
a tornado shreds a scarecrow and he had found that for once, he didn't want to do as he was told.  
  
A psychiatrist would probably call it some sort of delayed teenage rebellion against authorities.  
  
Then, as he was finally starting to sort though all the impressions and the sudden emergence of   
feelings normally so foreign to his species, they had been forced underground by Lewis.  
  
And then they had kissed in the motel room.  
  
And everything he thought he had figured out was turned upside down once more.  
  
It was as her taste alone put every nerve end on fire; pushing every one of his already from natures   
hand enhanced senses into overdrive.  
  
It had been that night he had realised, that the trained lack of emotions, his species seemed to prefer,   
may not be the ultimate way of living, that maybe the downsides were bigger than the advantages.  
  
Because he had never felt so alive before.  
  
It was like an addiction, he mused, watching covertly over the edge of his book as Sloan rose to   
stock the fire with wood, but it was an addiction he didn't want to kick.  
  
Not now, not ever.  
  
Because giving up that addiction was giving up Sloan.  
  
And despite everything, despite every danger that his affiliation with her presented him with,   
despite the havoc she wrecked on his senses and his mind, he couldn't picture giving her up.  
  
His species would have welcomed him back.  
  
That was the true meaning behind the death of his "brother".  
  
It had been a message.  
  
He had something they wanted, because if they wanted him dead, they wouldn't have wasted time   
to warn him, they would just have done it.  
  
He had used that tactic a couple of times himself.  
  
If only he knew, what he had they wanted so badly, then maybe he could turn it around and use it   
against them instead.  
  
Something was wrong with the picture, though.  
  
Usually, when they wanted to intimidate some one, the dominants choose someone from the   
immediate surroundings of the intended victim.   
  
The closer the better and preferably family.  
  
But Lewis had known that the only family, or close relation, Tom could remember was Sloan.  
  
And if Lewis had known, so had the Council.  
  
So why had they chosen an unknown brother?  
  
They had probably realised that the others in their little band, like Atwood and Ed Tate, was only   
someone he barely tolerated for Sloan's sake.  
  
But that still would have left Sloan.  
  
The one thing, which they could use against him.  
Unless they thought…  
  
Unless they thought she was his mate.  
  
If there was one thing, his species respected, it was the bond between those, who were mated.  
  
It was proven, that if one part of a mated couple was killed, the other would go into an insane blood   
lust, killing everything and everyone, who was unlucky enough to get in-between the survivor and   
the person, who had killed the beloved mate.  
  
And once the immediate blood lust had gone away, the survivor would either commit suicide or   
continue the rampage, now planned with a crazy sort of intelligence and reason.  
  
Like Lynch.  
  
Why hadn't he realised this before?  
  
Whatever he knew, what ever he had that the Council wanted; they needed him to be sane.  
  
"Tom? Is everything Ok?"  
  
Tom hadn't realised that he had suddenly straightened up from the relaxed, leaned back position in   
the couch as he realised why Sloan was still alive.  
  
He turned an uncomprehending face towards her as his brain tried to process these newest   
information.  
  
Why hadn't he seen it before?  
  
And was it true?  
  
Was he and Sloan mated?  
  
They hadn't slept together, but he had spoken the truth out in the timber lodge, when she had asked   
him if he had ever wanted a family.  
  
He really hadn't contemplated the idea until he had met her.  
  
And there was more to a mated couple than sex.  
  
"Tom?"   
  
Sloan's voice took on a very peculiar note, pitched somewhere between fear, concern and   
something indefinable.  
  
Something he didn't recognise from his earlier experiences.  
  
Something soft, which had been sneaking into her voice when she was talking to him more often   
since the Motel.  
  
Or was it earlier?  
  
Opening his empathic senses from the near zero state he kept them in when around humans to   
prevent himself from going nuts over the constant overflow of emotions humans seemed to   
broadcast constantly, he found the same strange softness echoed from her emotions.  
  
She moved over, shaking his shoulder slightly as if to ground him.  
  
The concern was clearly visible on her face.  
  
A human mate?  
  
It had never, to his knowledge, been done before.  
  
But it would explain so much, which had confused him.  
  
Slowly he brought his hand up, slowly outlining her cheekbone with his thumb and brushing back a   
red curl.  
  
The velvety feel of her skin made his head spin.  
  
The confusion in her eyes rose.  
  
"Tom?" This time the fear had gone from her voice, a new emotion slowly spreading in her eyes,   
voice and mind.  
  
Was it hope he sensed?  
  
He leaned in, giving her enough time to get away.  
  
But she didn't draw away.  
  
Instead she surprised him and closed the gap between them herself.  
  
He didn't believe in God or Heaven.  
  
There had been no room for such things in his upbringing as a Dominant.  
  
The only God the Dominants believed in was evolution.  
  
But if he had been asked about what Heaven tasted like in that second, he wouldn't have hesitated   
in answering "Like Sloan".  
  
Something just felt so very right about this.  
  
But he needed to tell her something important before things complicated further.  
  
As much as he hated to do it, he pushed her slightly away, wincing as he saw the acute uncertainty   
return to her eyes.  
  
"Sloan, there's something I need to tell you before we continue."  
  
Her eyes were still uncertain, but in her mind, the uncertainty slowly got replaced with the curiosity   
he so loved about her.  
  
Loved.  
  
It was the first time he used that word in connection with Sloan, but again it felt so right.  
  
And that rightness told him, that he loved her.  
  
"I love you, but…"  
  
The happiness he received from her almost destroyed his resolve and he had to draw a deep breath,   
closing his eyes while leaning his forehead against hers, steeling himself to prevent himself from   
doing what his body demanded from him.  
  
But he wanted her to understand fully what was going on here.  
  
Hanging onto the last thread of sanity, he spoke again.  
  
"But there are a thing you need to know."  
  
He took a shuddering breath, forcing his mind to form the words needed.  
  
"If we do this, if I take you to bed, there can be no other for either of us. We will be connected for   
life. Mated as we say amongst our people…"  
  
He could feel the mental shock, when the meaning of his words impacted on Sloan.  
  
A rapid flow of emotions, to many for him to decipher, followed.  
  
And then she shocked him once again as she reached down and slowly pulled his shirt from his   
pants.  
  
"Sloan, are you completely sure about this?" He whispered in her ear, then pulled back to look into   
the impossible green depths of her eyes.  
  
"As sure as I've ever been about anything.  
  
And the certainty in her eyes and the bond that were forged that night was the fire, which steeled   
him, helped him survive as forces beyond their control later ripped them apart, if only for a while.  
  
The End.  
  
Ok, originally this was only supposed to be Tom thinking about how he met Sloan and his   
immediate reaction to her, but things sort of…developed.  
I'm not sure I like the trashy romance ending though, but it was either that or a really, really NC-17   
rated ending, so gimme lots and lots of FEEEDDBAACK! 


End file.
